A Stop and Start
by Xazz
Summary: Desmond had been expecting a white light, and his entire life passing before his eyes. Death, however, was not nearly as grand. -oneshot-


To be honest Desmond had been expecting a choir of angels, a white light, and his entire life passing before his eyes. Death, however, was not nearly as grand. Most said death was painless. Painless his fucking _ass_. Getting a couple hundred amps of electricity blasting through his nervous system and turning it into a piece of crispy, black, toast.

Desmond's death had not been grand. It had been an abrupt end. He remembered trying to keep his hand still through the pain, and then... darkness, pure and absolute and he couldn't remember anything. A white noise and static was the only thing he was aware of next and the fact that he was _aware _was perhaps the most startling. He was dead. The dead weren't aware of anything because they were _dead_. Wasn't that the whole point of being dead?

Ghosts moved around him, countless thousands all milling and bumping against one another. Desmond didn't feel threatened though. He knew they wouldn't hurt him. He didn't know what to do about it either and he wasn't even sure where he was or in what orientation, it didn't even feel like he had a body. So he was just there, for a moment it seemed, for a thousand years it was, for the entire life of a star it appeared, and for but a single beat of his heart it happened. One of the ghosts seemed to push forward, becoming more solid and take shape, then another, seeming to press against a film between themselves, and him. Then the first one formed and he stared at them.

Looking at them made his chest burn with duty. He could taste the coppery taste of blood on his tongue and feel the warm caress of the Syrian sun on his skin. Loyalty weighed heavy on his back, seeming to strengthen it and give him a proper shape, an actual form and not just some bobbing set of senses amid so many ghosts. By the time they'd formed a third ghost was pressing urgently forward and the second was nearly solid. They both knelt next to him.

The second filled him with a rage that made it hard to see. His blood boiled and revenge was a poison to his very breath. The smell of garbage filled canals filled his nose but renaissance throbbed through his body, filling him. Change would not stop and he was just a leaf on the river. They knew that, he knew that.

The third nearly fell beside him and for a moment he felt like he was flying. He heard the sound of drums and the bitter regret of loss and patricide. Freedom was a dead weight in his gut but he could feel it all the way in the tips of his fingers, giving him strength for what was ahead.

"Hello, Desmond," the second, Ezio, said. Desmond... right, he was Desmond. How had he forgotten that? Ezio hugged him.

"Hello," he said, slightly awkward and confused. "What is this?"

"You're dead," Altair said without passion. "Again."

"Again? What's all this? I'm dead but I thought everyone died alone," he frowned. He didn't believe in heaven or hell. He thought it was bullshit. Everyone died alone and no matter how close you were to someone in death you were always alone. There were no comforts here.

"You are," Connor said.

"You're here."

They looked between each other, "We're you," Ezio said.

"I don't... understand," Desmond confessed.

"Past lives," Altair said, "all of them," he waved at the ghosts floating in the blurry aether.

"All of us," Connor motioned to themselves.

"I know it's confusing," Ezio said and pushed himself to his feet, "but you can't stay here."

"Why not?" Desmond asked.

"Because your time is done, and this spot is for the next one," Altair said as he and Connor rose. Altair offered his hand to Desmond.

"Okay," it was better to just go along with it. He reached out and grabbed Altair's forearm. The Syrian pulled him to his feet. "What now?" he asked.

They looked between themselves again and all wore the same smile, "The last great adventure of course," Connor said as Ezio put a hand on Desmond's shoulder. Ezio propelled him forward and he passed through the film between where he had been and the ghosts. Desmond looked over his shoulder as they left. Resting in his place was an infant.


End file.
